


Comfort

by cypress_tree



Category: Caliban's War - James S. A. Corey, The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Breakfast, Comfort No Hurt, M/M, Missing Scene, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amos knows that now's not the best time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during Chapter 33 of _Caliban’s War._ It starts just after the crew makes the “help save Mei” video, and is told from Amos’s point-of-view, rather than Prax’s.
> 
> Most of the fic fills in some missing scenes between events in the chapter, but the end of the fic does cover ground already covered within the chapter. Because of this, the dialogue during the breakfast scene (and some towards the very end) is taken directly from the book. All narration is my own.
> 
> Last but not least, I’d like to give a big shoutout to my partners in crime, geniusbee and saraduvall. I had [these](http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/post/135963833097/as-it-turns-out-the-expanse-book-series-has-like) [pictures](http://saraduvall.tumblr.com/post/137468774188/nothing-like-drawing-some-space-boyfriends-to-get) open in two different tabs and basically just flipped between them both for inspiration while writing. B))

Amos goes to the bar out of habit. He likes _The Tap_. It doesn’t have the edgy, unwelcome vibe of a neighborhood bar, and it’s not flooded with fake IDs like a college bar. It’s a good place to blend in. The fact that it’s down corridor from a brothel never hurt, either.

When he sees Holden walk in, Amos tries to pretend that he’s doing something. He swirls the glass in his hand, then tips it back, swallowing what's left in one gulp. He motions to the bartender for two more drinks and slides one of them over to Holden.

“You’re sitting at the bar,” Holden says, leaning against the counter for lack of a stool. “Usually I find you in a booth with a girl on either side.”

Amos shrugs, and Holden takes a sip of his drink, choking as it goes down his throat.

“What the hell _is_ this?”

“No idea,” Amos says, with a smirk. “But it’s half price tonight, and that means I can afford twice as many. Now what’s up?”

Holden eyes Amos curiously. He takes another sip of his drink— _devil’s amber_ , they called it—then gives a casual glance at the people around them and jerks his head to one side. Amos gets up and follows Holden through the crowd.

Holden finds a table in an out-of-they way corner of the room. He pulls his terminal from his pocket and brings up the credit union where Alex set up Mei’s account.

“Shit,” Amos mutters, hand hovering towards the screen. “Is that real?”

Holden nods. “And it’s only been—what? Five hours?”

The number rises as they watch. Someone just donated $200. Amos whistles.

“We have enough already,” Holden says. “ _He_ has enough. The _Roci_ can run for three weeks on this, and that number won’t stop rising anytime soon.” He swipes the screen away and puts the terminal back in his pocket. He takes another sip of his drink, eyes darting around the glass to make sure no one overheard.

Amos is smiling. “So we’re taking the job?” he asks.

“Guess so.”

Amos smiles wider. He can feel Holden looking at him, but he doesn’t look back. He thinks of Prax—how exhausted he’d looked earlier, how worried.

“You like the guy,” Holden says.

Amos purses his lips. “Yeah,” he says, vaguely. He twists his glass in one hand. “He’s a good guy. Good father.” He catches a bead of condensation on his index finger. Holden is still looking at him, but when Amos looks up, Holden looks away.

“You know,” Holden says. “I’m not gonna judge. If you—”

“Save it, Cap.”

“I’m just—”

“For the love of God.”

Holden laughs. It’s a quiet chuckle, barely audible over the noise of the bar. Amos gives a wry grin.

“Alright, well, I’ve said all I came to say.” Holden swallows the last of his drink and stands up. “You hanging around here tonight?”

Amos shrugs. The bar’s not a bad place to spend time, but it’s getting old. “Think I’ll head out soon,” he says. “Don’t wait for me, though. I’m gonna brood a little longer.”

“Okay.” Holden smiles and claps Amos on the shoulder. He leaves, and Amos is left on his own.

 

\---

 

When his drink is gone and he's gotten more looks of pity than he's comfortable with, Amos heads out towards the elevator. There’s a marketplace a few levels up; a real fancy one that he stumbled upon back when they were still living off Fred Johnson’s expense account. Amos hasn’t been there since, but now that they have cash to spare, he figures they can afford it.

The market is almost as loud as the bar. Stalls and carts line each side of the corridor, some serving hot, fresh-cooked food, others selling the kind of raw ingredients that Amos rarely sees outside a foil pouch. He smells something rich and nutty and follows his nose, finding himself at the table of an elderly Earther selling coffee in 100g bags.

“Have a taste!” the woman says, pushing a tiny cup into Amos’s hand. It smells like woodsmoke and brown sugar. He takes a sip, and groans out loud at the flavor that floods his mouth.

“How much?” he asks.

The woman grins and points to a sign. It costs more than he should spend, but Amos doesn’t care. Prax is sleeping back in his room, and Amos has a sudden, intense need to make him breakfast.

Amos wanders the stalls. He picks up some fresh eggs and flour tortillas hot from the griddle. When the corridor splits into two, he chooses the left. He passes a cart carrying tropical fruits, a stall advertising chocolate that tastes like it’s real. There’s a deli at the curve of the corridor. Its video screen catches Amos’s eye. He walks right up to it and raises an eyebrow.

“Question, sir?” asks the man behind the counter.

Amos points to the screen. “You really got cows?”

The man smiles. “Yes, of course,” he says. He’s sallow-skinned and sweaty. “Freshest meat you’ll find here on the station.”

Amos is suspicious, but he doesn’t know enough about livestock to doubt it.

“Where do you keep ‘em?” he asks.

“That’s a trade secret. Can’t go telling just anybody.” The man has a toothy grin. A strand of bleached hair falls right between his eyes, and he pushes it away. He turns from Amos to tap a few buttons on his till screen.

The steak looks good, so Amos buys a pound of it and considers himself done for the day. He heads for the elevator, squeezing in with a group of teenage girls chatting together in excited Mandarin. They get off at the stop before him, then a middle-aged man steps in, carrying a small seedling with a price tag labelled _Ayanna’s Hydroponic Nursery_. Amos considers asking for directions, but decides against it. He doesn’t know anything about plants. He’s not even sure what Prax would like.

 

\---

 

The lights come on as Amos opens the door. They illuminate the entryway and small, empty common area. Amos peeks into one of the bunk rooms to find Prax still sleeping soundly. He’s curled up on his side. There’s a frown on his face and tension in his shoulders. He looks like he might have been crying.

The blanket has slid off Prax’s feet, so Amos pulls it back down till they’re covered. He watches Prax sleep for just a moment, then takes a deep breath and leaves the room, letting the door slide shut behind him. He goes to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. His heart is beating faster than it should be.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking at himself in the mirror. “It’s like you never seen a good-looking guy before.” He shakes his head and goes out into the common area. There’s an electric griddle stored in the closet, so he plugs it in and cooks the steak and eggs. He puts the coffee in the coffeemaker and goes back into the bathroom for a shower.

When he comes out, Prax is eating at the table. He looks up at Amos, his eyes roving over Amos’s chest. They pause at his scar and tattoo, then he starts to blush, and looks away.

“Hey, Doc,” Amos says, with a grin. “You’re looking better.”

“I got some rest.”

Amos goes into his room to get dressed. Prax raises his voice and thanks him through the door. Amos pulls on his jumpsuit. Prax’s voice fades into the background, until he says—

“Whether you and the others can actually help find Mei or not—”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to find her?” Amos interrupts. He looks in the mirror, flattening his hair with one hand. “You ain’t losing respect for me, are you Doc?”

“No!” Prax backpedals, stuttering until Amos laughs to himself and comes back out.

“I know what you meant, I was just joshing you.”

Prax’s shoulders relax. He turns to his plate, pouting a little and scooping up a bite of steak and egg. He seems pleased with the taste, and licks yolk off the prongs of his fork.

“You like that steak?” Amos asks. “Keep wondering where they put the cows on this thing, don’t you?”

“Oh no, this is vat-grown.” Prax says. Amos frowns. “You can tell by the way the muscle fibers grow.” Prax points to the steak and explains. Amos kicks himself.

“I didn’t know that,” he says, thinking of the salesman with his lying grin.

Prax eats a forkful of egg and nods. “Microgravity also makes fish more nutritious. Increases the oil production.” He starts talking about low-g and oxygen in the water. Amos isn’t exactly listening, just watching. Prax talks with his hands—long, delicate fingers balancing the fork as he waves it through the air. Amos rips off a bit of tortilla and dips it into the egg on his plate.

“This is what dinner conversation’s like in your family, ain’t it?” he asks.

Prax blinks. “Mostly, yes,” he says. “Why? What do you talk about?”

Amos chuckles, feeling a surge of affection that he’s sure is reflected on his face. He doesn’t bother to hide it, though he can sense Prax studying him.

“You got laid, didn’t you?” Prax asks.

For a moment, Amos is stunned.

“Oh hell yes,” he lies. He changes the subject. “But that’s not the best part.”

 

\---

 

When Amos tells Prax about the money, the man looks like he’s going to cry. He pulls out his terminal and scrolls through his messages. Amos watches him, finishing off the last of the steak and eggs as Prax views video after video from donors all across the system.

“I never—” he mutters. “Why would all these people—”

Prax’s eggs start to congeal, so Amos picks up his plate and takes it into the bathroom to wash. He can still hear muffled voices from the videos. Sometimes Prax reacts—giving a quiet whimper or murmuring “thank you." Amos isn't sure he knows that he's doing it.

He walks back into the common area, setting the clean dishes on the table and making himself comfortable on the sofa. Prax is clutching his terminal tightly in both hands. He's leaning forward in his chair, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His brow is furrowed.

"Hey, why don't you give it a rest?" Amos asks. Prax shows no signs of having heard him, so Amos raises his voice and waves an arm to catch his attention. "Hey, Doc?"

Prax looks up. The video is still playing.

"You wanna take a break?" Amos asks again. "Those videos aren't going anywhere, and you've been watching 'em for the better part of an hour."

Prax checks the time in the corner of his screen. Something like guilt passes over his face.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, pushing the terminal away. "I just—I'm so glad it worked."

They sit together in a moment of awkward silence. Prax's hands are fidgeting. Amos sees him glance at the terminal, then at the ground.

"Bring it over here," Amos sighs, giving in. Prax grabs the terminal and sits down next to him on the sofa.

"See anything useful?" Amos asks. "Anyone have clues?"

Prax shakes his head. He uses his thumb to swipe through previously-viewed videos. "This is someone I used to work with," he says, pointing to a person with wire-rimmed glasses and a white lab coat. "They met Mei once, when I stopped off at work over the weekend. They donated a whole week's wages to the cause." He smiles, then swipes through again, pausing on a Martian teenager filmed against a stark white backdrop.

"This person...he claims that he can use telepathy to send Mei a message for me."

Amos laughs. Prax looks up at him with a shy smile.

"You gonna take him up on it?" Amos teases.

"Oh, I think I'll save the money."

They watch a few more videos. Prax holds the terminal between them, and Amos leans in a little to see. He's only halfway paying attention. He's distracted by Prax's hair—how it lies flat on his head, but sticks out where it's overgrown around his ears. There's grey at his temples, and Amos finds himself trying to find patterns in it.

"Did you make anything of that?" Prax asks. He pauses the video and looks up at Amos, who blinks himself back to attention.

"Uh—"

"I caught the first bit, but the accent..."

"Oh, I'd uh—have to listen to it again, to be sure."

Prax plays the video a second time. It's a Belter speaking in thick patois, promising Prax half her next paycheck by the weekend.

"These people are so generous," Prax murmurs. "Even those who don't have the means are giving what they can."

Amos nods. He looks at Prax's hand, his bony wrist. A tiny bit of forearm peeks out from under his shirtsleeve.

"Thank you," Prax says, turning to him abruptly. "Honestly, it means a lot that you all took me in and want to help, and for _you_ to—for you to invite me to stay in your room—"

"Oh, it's no problem, Doc."

Prax stares at him for a long moment. "You've made me feel safe," he says. "Cared for. I appreciate it."

Amos nods, awkwardly. He wants to say _I care about you_ , but it would probably be a bad idea. The video continues to play. Prax reaches out and takes Amos’s hand.

"Oh, thank fuck," Amos sighs. Prax tenses. "I thought this was only one-way."

Prax laughs in relief—a high-pitched near-giggle. "No, I—I'm—"

"I didn't want to do anything because it's a shitty time for you, with Mei and all. I didn't wanna be the asshole who puts the moves on—"

"No, it's fine! I mean, you're right—it's not the greatest time, but it's nice to have a—a bit of comfort amid the chaos."

Amos turns his hand over and interlocks their fingers.

"Glad to hear it," he says. Prax smiles and leans in a little until he's nestled up against Amos's side. Amos lets go of his hand in favor of wrapping his arm around Prax's shoulders. "So—what now?" he asks.

Prax shrugs. "There are still thirteen more videos."

Amos laughs. "Not what I meant, Doc, but okay, let's see 'em."

The man in the next video is old—eighty or ninety, maybe. He's of Asian descent, with a wrinkled face and white hair around the back of his head.

"Dr. Meng," he says. "I'm sorry to hear of all you and your family have suffered. _Are_ suffering." He pauses to lick his lips. "The security video on your presentation. I believe I know the man in it. But his name isn't Strickland."

"What?" Amos mutters. Prax shushes him.

"When I worked with him at Ceres Mining and Tech University, his name was Merrian. Carlos Merrian."

The video ends abruptly. A new one starts to load, but Prax pauses it and puts down the terminal.

"Welp," says Amos. “That sure sounds like a clue to me.”

 

\---


End file.
